A Poor Decision
by Spool the Pink Dalek
Summary: An irritable comic book salesperson, a disoriented TV star, a hysterical producer, and a pink Dalek loose on the streets of London. What can go wrong?
1. The Poor Decision

**A POOR DECISION**

**Summary: "**He was a small Dalek by the name of Spool, and he was a pinkish sort of colour."

Sorry it's taken me so long to post something else. Busy…so busy…

-Pax

* * *

"I hate casting," the casting agent grumbled, sifting through piles and piles of applications. He'd scrawled notes all over them, most of which he couldn't read by now.

"Isn't that a bit counterintuitive?" asked his friend, sifting through a similar pile of applications. "You get paid for it."

"Yeah, but everybody's _leaving,_" Groaned the first one. "I don't _like _casting the protagonist."

"You know who the hardest to cast are?" his friend said.

The first one thought about it, then, stumped, asked, "Who?"

"The Daleks. You've got to have a certain personality to be a Dalek, really." The second one replied.  
The first one rolled his eyes. "We're having Daleks _again_ this season?"

The second one let out an exasperated sigh. "I know, right?"

"Aren't they all computer generated now?" The first one said.  
The second one rolled his eyes. "No, actually. We still put midgets in Dalek suits, believe it or not."

The first one gaped at the second one. "So that one scene with the thousands of Daleks…"

"I don't want to talk about it." The second one mumbled.

There were a few more minutes of silence, and then the first one threw his paper down in frustration. "You know what? The actors aren't nearly as good as they used to be. We need some real inspiration in here."

"What are you suggesting?" The second one said. "Old episodes, watched over and over on lonely Friday evenings with nothing but a box of cold pizza and flat Mountain Dew to sustain you until Monday?" His eyes clouded over with nostalgia.  
"No," the first one said with a sly smile, "I'm suggesting real Daleks."

* * *

It took several weeks of string-pulling, paperwork, intense funding and asylum-bailing, but finally the casting agents got their Dalek. He was a small Dalek that went by the name of Spool, and he was a pinkish sort of colour. As a result, none of the bigger Daleks ever let him participate in genocide, for they did not want to soil the Dalek name. Spool was a very resentful sort of killing machine; he had been consistently mocked while growing up, and these four seconds of torment had left him permanently scarred.

So, when he finally arrived in a wooden crate that had been hastily stuffed in the back of a truck, Spool was understandably peeved.

The moment the crate was opened, the Dalek flew out of the box, a pink blur against the building behind him. He swiveled around wildly, shrieking something completely unintelligible but what the people present suspected was something like,

"EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!"

Actually, that's probably _exactly _what it was.

When Spool finally calmed down enough to focus on his targets, he was too dizzy to aim his weapon correctly and simply ended up pivoting his whisk around in circles as he attempted to shoot the cast and crew that had let him out of the crate.

"I'm starting to think this wasn't such a good idea," Steven Moffat said wisely, crossing his arms and staring at the confused Dalek.

"Why?" Asked Russell T. Davies, taking his camera out of his pocket and snapping pictures.

"Well, for one, it's pink," Moffat replied. "The viewers'll never buy it."

Davies stroked his own chin. "We could claim the casting agents were colourblind,"

Moffat nodded. "Yes, that would solve the problem. Now there's the slight issue of having a weapon of mass destruction on our set. The UN will never let us get away with it."

"Bah," Davies replied. "Nobody cares about those guys."

"Makes sense," Moffat said. It was now his turn to stroke Davies' chin. "So how to get it on the set without everybody on Earth dying horribly?"

David Tennant suddenly grinned and stepped forward, his body in the same non-threatening position he would use to coax a dog into trusting him.

"Hey, little guy," he said in a sweet, condescending voice – exactly the same voice he'd use to convince a dog that he was the friendliest person on Earth. It was also the voice he used on fangirls.

Spool recognized the voice. "DOCTORRRRR!" he cried, and fired off his whisk randomly.

Everybody in the proximity was forced to dive to the ground or be exterminated. He missed the humans, but did manage to kill and instantly cook a goose flying overhead.

"Russell, I think our goose…" Davies began.

"Don't say it," Moffat snapped. "Don't even think it."

"WHY HAVE YOU KID-NAPPED THE GREAT AND POW-ER-FUL SPOOOOOOOL?" Spool demanded in a Dalek authoritative voice.

"We didn't _kidnap _you." Moffat said, "We _hired _you for your great and wonderful acting talent."

Spool paused. "ACT-ING?" He asked, still using the authoritative voice.

"Yes!" Moffat replied. "We think you'd be brilliant for the role of the supreme Dalek in our end-of-season special this year!"

Spool was shocked. "NO-BOD-Y HAD EV-ER APPRE-CI-AT-ED ME BE-FORE,"

"I know what it's like to be an underappreciated talent," One of the writers said. "I wrote a lot of episodes, but Davies decided to kick them in favour of his own."

"THAT JERK," Spool droned. "WHERE IS THIS DA-VIES?"

"Look," Davies interrupted. "That's not the point here. The point here is that you would be a brilliant actor!"

Tennant started to open his mouth, but Moffat tackled him to prevent him from speaking. Then, the writer spoke. "Follow me into your new dressing room and we'll get you ready for filming today."

"TO-DAY?" Spool asked, in a panic. "I DO NOT KNOW MY LINES."

"Don't worry," Moffat reassured him, trying to pat him on the shoulder but finding nothing to pat. "You're a genius, remember?"

If Spool had had a chest, he would have puffed it out proudly. However, as he had none, he simply settled for twitching his whisk around and scaring the pants of various members of the cast and crew.


	2. On the Set

"Right," Davies said. "So in this scene, the Doctor will sprint down the hallway…"

"More running?" David complained. "Why always the running? Why can't I _walk_ for a change?"

"Because," Davies said impatiently, "If you _walked, _the bad guys would _catch you._"

David glared at the producer but stood in position.

"Okay. So the Doctor sprints down this hallway here, but just before he reaches the door, the supreme Dalek is going to swoop out of the hole in the ceiling in front of him!" He waved his arms dramatically. "And the Dalek is going to say…"

"Exterminate?" One of the camera operators guessed.

"Shocking. The man reads minds." The producer rolled his eyes. "And one last thing," he raised his voice so all on the set could hear. "David is not the Doctor. He's David."

"I UN-DER-STAND," Said a Dalek voice from somewhere above the set. "DO NOT EX-TER-MIN-ATE DAVID."

Satisfied, Davies gave a hand signal that meant, "Action!" On cue, David moved down the hallway at a dead sprint, and safely reached the door at the other end. He looked about confusedly, and then said, "Wasn't there supposed to be a Dalek in there somewhere?"

Belatedly, Spool dropped from the sky and shouted, "EXTER-MIN-ATE!"

"You're late, Spool," sighed the Davies. "You're supposed to drop earlier."

"I HAVE NO RE-GRETS," Spool bellowed.

"I don't care if you regret it or not. I do, however, care that you came in late." Davies caught the attention of the camera operators. "Get ready to roll again."

"NO RE-GRETS!" Spool insisted, and the prop managers had to usher him off stage.

David sauntered back into position, ruffled up his hair, and got ready to run.

"Action!"

The running started again. David passed under the hole in the ceiling at the exact moment Spool swooped down. There was a horrible moment in David's eyes when time slowed and all he saw was a gigantic eyestalk on a collision course with his head, and then he was suddenly sprawled backwards on the cement.

"EXTER-MIN-ATE!" Spool shouted again.

"Spool," the producer said with an impatient tone. "If you hit the actors, we can't get on with the scene. David, up. We're shooting again."

"Could somebody please stop the room?" David slurred. "I want to get off."

"I AM IN-COM-PET-ENT!" Spool cried, and a weird mechanical sobbing noise emanated from him. He flew back up through the hole in the ceiling, sobbing as he went.

The producer buried his face in his palm. He waved to a couple of crew members offset. "Barker, Puttock, go administer first aid to David. "Edwards, go console the incompetent Dalek."

Edwards pointed to himself with an incredulous, "_Me_?"

"Yes, you!" The producer snapped. "Go!"

The crewman walked off, grumbling under his breath.

Suddenly, there was a crash, and the Dalek's voice could be heard. "I AM UN-WORRRRTHY! I CAN-NOT PUR-SUE A LIFE OF ACT-TING! IT'S NOT WORTH IT!"

"Spool, calm down!" Edwards was shouting. "You were born to act!"

"NO. I AM LEAV-ING. DO NOT STOP ME. I SHALL SET-TLE DOWN AND START A FAM-IL-Y."

There was a crash, and Edwards slumped back onto the set and said, "He's leaving to start a family and says he won't come back to the acting business."

Davies pulled at his hair. "Did you see where he _went?_"

Edwards snorted derisively. "_No. _I'm not your Dalek's keeper."

"We've got to find him! He'll kill us all!" the producer yelled. "Quick, split up and find him. The first person to bring him back in gets a cameo appearance in our next show. Now go!"

The promise of a reward and threat of world annihilation had all the crew members scrambling at once. The calls of searchers echoed through the studio. Davies went to fetch Moffat and search for the Dalek.

David remained on the ground, staring dazedly at the ceiling.


	3. Fun With WalkieTalkies

It's official. Congress actually passed a bill on it. Pax is slow.

Sorry, guys. I'm really lame for not updating. _Especially_ for updating with such short chapters.

By the way, please drop a review on your way out. It makes me happy to get them.

* * *

"See him yet?" Moffat asked into his walkie-talkie as he leaned out the driver's side window of his car. He had to quickly duck back inside to avoid losing his right ear as a bus zipped past.

Four of his co-producers and five writers replied, in unison, "No."

Davies said, "No. Just in case you hadn't noticed, London _is _a rather large place."

"Don't look for the _Dalek._" David said, "Look for the mobs running and screaming." There was a pause, and then the walkie-talkie beeped to signal he was no longer holding down the button. It suddenly beeped again, and Moffat, thinking it was someone with news of his escaped alien, held down the button on his own walkie talkie and said, "Have you got something?"  
The line had beeped again before he could finish his sentence. Suddenly, there came a flurry of beeps and boops from the device, with David's manic laughter audible every other beep. Obviously, he was pressing the "talk" button in rapid succession just to hear the noise it made.

"David! Stop that!" Moffat snapped. "This is serious business!"

"It beeps!" David gasped, still laughing. Then, just because he could, he pressed the button a few more times.

"Shut up! Do you know how annoying that is?" Davies snapped over the line. "Be-doop, hahahaha, be-doop, be-doop, hahahaha, be-doop, be-doop, hahahaha, be-doop, be-doop , hahahaha…"

"Now you're doing it!" Moffat shouted. "Can we _please _stop being easily amused?"

"Yeah, sorry, Steven," Davies snarled.

"Sorry…is that a cat? I think it is." David said. "Hold on…I have a visual!"

"On the cat?" Davies scoffed.

The actor seemed taken aback. "No, on the Dalek. What else would I have a visual on?"

Steven could practically hearDavies rolling his eyes. "Oh, I don't know. One of several things."

"I'm going to follow him," David said. "It looks like he's heading towards the palace."

"My god," Moffat breathed. "Spool's going to kill the queen!"

"Wait, nope, he's turning right. Oh, look, a science fiction convention." Tennant said.

"Is the convention relevant to the search?" Moffat asked carefully.

"Of course it is! I wouldn't bring it up if it weren't." The actor replied, offended. "Spool's going into a convention."

"My god," Moffat gasped. "He's going to kill the Trekkies! Russell, we're done for."

Davies asked, "Do you still have that bomb shelter we used when we were filming _The Empty Child_?"

"I don't think he's out to kill the Trekkies," Tennant said. "But I'll go get him before he has a chance."

With that, David got out of his car and walked towards the pink Dalek.


	4. Ravenous Klingons and Such

Well, under threat of being bludgeoned to death by an umbrella, I'm writing another chapter.

I also know I should write longer chapters…

But I probably won't.

-Pax

* * *

Spool swiveled around, slightly disoriented. For one, he was surrounded by people in funky clothes. Second, there was some sort of theme song blasting from somewhere, and third, he was fairly sure most of the puny humans around him were speaking in a form of guttural nonsense that he couldn't decipher for the life of him.

"WHAAAAAAT?" he demanded, to no one in particular.

He hadn't expected an answer, so he nearly leapt out of his shell and flopped away when one of the humans to suddenly growled loudly at him and shouted, "Kraaaaasch-kak!"

This only served to confuse Spool more. He paused, unsure what to do, before repeating, "WHAAAAAAAAT?"

The puny human glared at him. "You're dressed as a Dalek and you don't know Klingon? I mean, I know they're different programmes, but really."

"WHAAAT IS A KLING-ON?" Spool asked, confused.

"You're pathetic." Muttered the puny human-Klingon thing. "And your costume looks fake. I mean, pink? _Real _Daleks aren't _pink._"

"I CAN-NOT HELP IT!" Spool suddenly sobbed. The Klingon-whatever had hit a nerve. "I HAVE AL-WAYS BEEN THIS WAY! ALL THE OT-HER DAAAAA-LEKS AL-WAYS MADE FUN OF ME!" He then collapsed into a cascade weird mechanical sobbing noises.

The puny human looked shocked. "I'm sorry!" he apologized. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings…what's your name?"

"SU-PREME DAAAAA-LEK SPOOL!" Spool bellowed before choking up again. "AND DAAAA-LEKS DO NOT HAVE FEEL-INGS." This last sentence, was, of course, interspersed with more sobs.

The human-Klingon put his hand on what might have been a shoulder, if Spool had had shoulders.

"Tell me all about it, Supreme Dalek Spool."

* * *

By the time David entered the con, there was a silent, solemn crowd of sci-fi nerds gathered around something in the middle of the lobby. They each had sympathetic, pensive looks on their costumed and painted faces.

He was about to tap one of them on the shoulder before he realized the particular person he had in mind was wearing a long brown coat over a pinstriped suit, with white converse shoes on his feet. Perhaps walking into the middle of a science fiction convention unannounced wasn't exactly the best way to ensure his survival to a ripe old age. Fortunately, everyone's attention was on the middle of the lobby.

David sneaked off to a costume stand, saw the saleswoman reading a comic book with her feet propped up on the table.

He rolled beneath the table, came up behind the saleswoman with a flourish, and did a Vulcan death grip on her.

The saleswoman looked at him. "Why are you rubbing my shoulders?"

David quickly hid his hands in his pockets. "No reason, just a whim, you know."

"Are you gonna buy something?" she demanded, obviously wanting to return to her comic book. "Or just molest me some more?"

"It depends," Tennant muttered.

"Look, I'll give you a Doctor Who costume for free if you leave me alone."

"I don't think that's a good idea," began the actor, but he already had a Cyberman helmet on his head and was being ushered out of the booth.

He stumbled towards the crowd again, unable to see particularly well, and approached a kid dressed as a Weevil.

"'Scuse me," he said, tapping the kid on the shoulder. "I'm looking for a pink Dalek, have you seen one?"

The kid turned towards him. "Y'mean Spool?"

"What?" David asked. "How do you…?"

"He's really quite the poet," The Weevil interrupted, nodding. "Killer roleplayer, too. Hasn't come out of character once. Though the character itself is rather odd, a pink Dalek."

"Sure." David said, cautiously. "Where can I find him?"

The Weevil pointed. "He's telling his life story to a bunch of cosplayers a bit further down the lobby. Fascinating stuff."

David nodded and went in the direction the kid had pointed, stumbling every once in a while as the helmet slipped down over his eyes. It was a trifle large for his head.

He easily found the crowd, and pushed himself through the silent cosplayers to find Spool, in the centre of a large circle of people.

"BUT DAVROS TOLD ME THAT I COULD NOT PLAY BASE-BALL WITH THE OTHER DAAAAALEKS," he was saying. "HE SAID MY COOR-DIN-A-TION WAS NOT GOOD E-NOUGH!"

Sympathetic murmurs.

"AND THE OTHER DAAAALEKS THREATENED TO EXTERRRRRRRRRRMINATE ME!"

"I've never been threatened with exterminations," said a kid dressed as a Klingon.

"I think it's the Dalek equivalent of a wedgie," hissed a fellow Klingon.

"How embarrassing for all those people that got killed by them," murmured the first. "Wedgied to death."

"I don't think the wedgie analogy applies to people," David said, suddenly coming up behind them.

"Sure it does," the first Klingon said. "Shouldn't it apply to any species?"

"Think of it this way," Tennant explained. "If you put a pair of underwear on a dog…"

"Actually, that makes sense," The second mused, thoughtful. "Since, technically, dogs don't really have bu…"

It was at that point that Spool caught sight of David in his cyberman mask.

"THE DA-LEKS WILL EXTERRRRMINATE THE CY-BER-MEN!" He suddenly bellowed, and hovered towards the actor. "A-NY LAST WORRRRRRDS?"

David debated for a moment, then lifted his mask up so only Spool could see and hissed, "Spool, it's me!"

"DAAAAAAAAAVID!" the pink Dalek said gleefully. "MR TENNANT! HAVE YOU COME TO HELP ME FIND A JOB?"

Suddenly, there was a predatory feeling in the air. The pit of David's stomach filled with dread as he glanced round.

There came a murmur, so low and dangerous that it sounded as if it came from nowhere. All the cosplayers were hissing, "David? David Tennant?"

Suddenly, Klingon-kid number two reached up and yanked the helmet off of his head. He then shouted in a guttural, angry language. It didn't take a Sci-Fi nerd like to David know he was speaking Klingon, or that he'd said, "It's him!"

The room filled with a hungry, anticipatory feeling, as one would feel when they are about to get ambushed by a pack of starved wolves.

"Spool," David whispered. "Start running."


	5. Fans and Cougars Are Not Synonymous

This chapter is all about David, and how he was kidnapped to Wyoming by a crazy fan.

And yes, I am slow.

* * *

Moffat's radio beeped.

"Talk," He said, and waited for someone to say something.

Suddenly, he heard David's breathless shouting. "They're after me, Steven! They're after me and Spool!"

"Calm down, David! Who's after you?" Moffat said, trying to calm down the actor.

"The fans! The fanboys and fangirls! There are so many, so many, and they all have hungry eyes!"

Spool screamed metallically in the background, "YOU WILL NEV-ER TAKE ME ALIIIIIIIVE!"

"Play dead!" Moffat cried.

"What?!" David cried back.

"Play dead and they'll lose interest!" the writer replied.

Davies interjected, "That only works for bears! If the fans think he's dead, they'll take his head to a taxidermist and mount it on their collective, evil fan-wall! Climb a tree, David!"

"What?" David seemed on the verge of tears. "I'm in a hotel! There are no trees!"

Moffat said the next thing he thought of. "Try to seem as big as you can! Turn around, open your jacket, wave your arms and growl at them!"

"Does that work for fans?" David asked, skeptical.

Moffat didn't know. "Yes, every time. Try it. And stay on the line!"

"ALIIIIIIIIVE!" Spool cried in the background.

Moffat and Davies could hear the fans shouting in the background now, a mish-mosh of teenage nonsense about autographs and having David's child.

Both writers heard a fierce roaring that must have been David's, and Spool's roar once the Dalek decided to follow suit. Then, all they heard was the sound of a stampede, disembodied screaming, and the sound of tearing flesh (actually, it was probably clothes, but Davies like to fancy it was tearing flesh) before the line went dead.

"Note to self," Moffat muttered. "Fans and mountain lions are not synonymous."

* * *

When David awoke, he was dressed in nothing but his boxers. He was tied to a wooden chair. A single light bulb dimly lighted the room. The concrete walls were devoid of furniture, but a large amount of what looked like discarded house junk littered the room.

He looked up as the door screeched open, casting light on the stairs. He caught the faint aroma of baking cookies before the door slammed shut.

A person in a Darth Vader mask came menacingly down the concrete steps, brandishing a realistic-looking phaser.

"Hello, Doctor," He said, through the Darth Vader voice changer. "You may be wondering where you are."

"Your mother's basement?" David guessed confidently.

The person staggered back in surprise, then reached up and pushed a button on his mask. Darth Vader said, "I am your father."

The person seemed surprised that he'd pressed the wrong button, but went along with it. "Yes, Doctor, I am your father! And you may know where you are, but you shall never escape!"

David decided not to tell him that he'd already untied his hands from behind the chair.

Suddenly, Darth Vader approached him and pressed a phaser to his head. "Now, Doctor," he hissed. "You need to do something for me."

David swallowed. "What?"

The actor could nearly feel the fan's eyes as they glared at him through the mask."Say, 'Don't Blink'."

Tennant paused, then said, "Don't...blink?"

"No!" Darth Vader roared. "Say it like you mean it!"

This was all very weird, David thought. But this person had a weapon to his head.

He sang, in a catchy jazz tune, "Don't bli-i-ink! Yeah, baby, do not bli-i-ink."

The person pressed a button. Darth Vader said, "The force is strong in this one."

He continued, "You may not cooperate now, Doctor, but you will give in to my demands!" He laughed evilly and went to go back upstairs, but suddenly stopped and turned around.

"By the way, my mom's baking cookies, do you want one?" He asked.

"Sure, I love biscuits," David said.

Vader nodded. "Okay, I'll bring you down one. Is chocolate chip okay?"

"Yeah, fine," David replied.

Vader laughed evilly again and went back up the stairs.

David, alone again, glanced around the room. He spotted the corner of his windbreaker poking out from under a box. He glanced around to make sure no one was coming, and then got out of the chair and lunged for it.

He had considerable trouble getting the windbreaker out from under the box. He tugged on it harder and harder until he finally dislodged the entire box from its position. What he saw then made his blood run cold.

There was an entire shrine there, hidden behind the boxes, dedicated to him. Candle stubs, obviously well-used, were positioned around the inside of an alcove lined with pictures and quotes. There was a huge picture of him in front of his flat pasted on one wall. David didn't remember it being taken.

His clothes were carefully folded on a pedestal in the centre of the alcove. His jeans, his t-shirt, his windbreaker, and even his shoes and socks were all neatly laid out in a pattern. His wallet had been taken apart, and all his cards and cash had been taped to various boxes.

Shivering at the creepiness of this, David quickly got dressed, located his credit cards and driver's license, and bolted for the stairs. He ran up the concrete steps as fast as he could, only to run into Darth Vader as he came down the stairs with a plate of cookies.

Not thinking, David grabbed a biscuit and fled, going for the door of the house. When he came outside, he stopped abruptly and went back inside.

"Hey," He said to Darth Vader, who was still standing at the top of the stairs. "Where am I?"

"Wyoming," Darth Vader said coolly.

David blinked. "Wyoming?" then, it sunk in. "Wyoming?! How did I get to Wyoming?!"

"The genius of fans knows no bounds," Darth Vader said, and laughed.

"Okay," David said sternly, taking a step towards the fan. "You need to buy me a plane ticket back to London."

"No." the fan sassed. "You're not the boss of me."

"I think I am!" The actor cried.

"Since when? _I _locked _you _in my basement, not the other way around." The fan challenged.

"One," David said, holding up a finger, "I don't have a basement, I have a tool shed. Two: why would I want you in my tool shed?"

"Because I loooooove you." Darth Vader replied, and took a step towards him, arms outstretched as if to hug him. "And you looooooove me."

David's mouth opened and shut a few times, before he took a step away from the fan and choked, "I think I'll be going now."

The fan was suddenly furious. "NO!" he cried, and lunged for David. "NEVER LEAVE ME!"

That was the final straw. Forsaking the rest of the cookies, he turned tail and ran. Darth Vader was hot on his tail the whole time, shouting at him. He fled through what he supposed was supposed to be a city, but was really more like a nonsensical collection of small buildings in the middle of a plain. None of the locals seemed to care that he was being pursued by a maniac in a Darth Vader costume.

He bolted past a Taco Bell and ran for the hills. The exhausted Darth Vader fell further and further behind until David found himself alone in the middle of a field, surrounded by tall grass and crickets. There was no one in sight, the town was gone, and the only living creature he could see was an antelope about twenty feet away that was staring incredulously at him.

"If I were a Wyoming airport," he thought, "Where would I hide?"


End file.
